


Found Tonight

by Danagirl623



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A bad night, M/M, OD, One Shot, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 23:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15918471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danagirl623/pseuds/Danagirl623
Summary: John has a rough night in the ER and runs into Sherlock.Thanks to my friend G who beta'd this.Comments and kudos please!





	Found Tonight

John Watson truly hated his job. 

 

He had spent 15 years serving his country as both a soldier and a doctor. He spent 2 years in Germany on an American base, 3 years in Afghanistan with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, and the remaining ten years at St. Bart’s in the very heart of London. 

 

Currently, he was a trauma surgeon at St. Bart’s Hospital. Most days, it was a gunshot wound, or a motor vehicle accident. Some days, it was a rape accusation. On the really bad days, it was a dying child. 

 

Today was the worst day of John’s medical career. 

 

32 year old Jane Doe arrived via ambulance actively overdosing on unknown substance(s) with possible allergic reaction.  Narcan and  Epipen administered on the ride over. 

 

This is  **not** the first overdose of John’s career.  

 

He greeted the ambulance crew at the door and took over the emergency. 

 

John looked over the patient, using his skills he’d learn from Sherlock Holmes, he deduced the following:

 

_ Years of drug and alcohol abuse. _

_ Used to be rich. Still wears Prada. _

_ Compulsive nail biter.  _

_ Never sleeps. _

 

John observed the following:

 

_ New track marks scattered throughout old scars in the bilateral elbows and in the web spaces of the fingers. A 10 cm “C” tattoo covering the older marks.  _

_ Well made clothing but shabby. _

_ Nails of the fingers chewed to the skin.  _

_ Black bags under both eyes.  _

 

The nurses settled the patient into a hospital bed, and scattered to accomplish their next task. He heard himself say the words as if he was far away. “5mg of Valium IM, saline drip, Benadryl 50 mg IM.” 

 

He had done this a thousand times before.

 

But there was something about this woman, he couldn’t turn his head away. He touched the “C” tattoo, but was drawn away by an incompetent resident. He grabbed the needle out of their hand and started an I.V. in less than 15 seconds. He turned to a nurse who took over.

 

He glanced up to the patient’s face again, and saw her- really saw this time. 

 

Those almond colored eyes that defined John’s childhood stared back at him.

 

_ “Come on, Johnny. Just say you did it! Mum won’t be so mad at you. You’re her favorite.” _

 

_ “Please, Johnny! Do it for me! I’ll get Eliza to show you her tits.” _

 

_ “Live a little, Johnny.” _

 

John felt fear build in him, as he looked at her. “Harry?” He asked, touching her face gently. 

 

_ I’m a doctor. Not a scared little brother. I’m. A. Doctor. HER. Doctor. _

 

The too-thin woman with the wild curls and almond eyes looked at the voice that spoke to her, and stared.

 

She held his eyes with hers, and in them John saw what happened. He saw the fight with Clara, getting high to forget, then eating something-  _ Fish _ . 

 

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, Johnny,” There was a ghost of a smile in her eyes and then nothing. 

 

John started naming the vital organs as they shut down. 

 

_ Heart. _

 

_ Lungs.  _

 

_ Brain. _

 

Each organ shutting down felt like a gunshot. He rubbed his left shoulder at the pain. 

 

He stared at his sister. “Time of death. 18:45,” He said out loud, but inside he was turning off, making himself less  _ John Watson _ , and more  _ Captain Watson _ . Locking his emotions in their proper drawers. 

 

_ Dread and fear, you two go in the top drawer.  _

 

_ Loss, the middle drawer’s for you!  _

 

The team left the room, leaving John alone with his sister.

 

_ Sorrow goes in the bottom drawer.  _

 

_ Pain goes in the bottom drawer, too.  _

 

He stared at her face for a full minute, before he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. 

 

He scrolled through the phone looking for the contact information for his …  _ deceased _ sister’s wife. He found it and made a terse telephone call. 

 

His next phone call was to his friend Molly Hooper. 

 

“Hey, John! Everything’s great with Rosie! She’s been asleep for about-”

 

“Can you call Greg to watch her? There’s a body I need you to deal with.” John asked, numbly. He sounded like shit. 

 

“A body, John?”

 

“My sister overdosed and died. I need- I’m requesting that you come collect the body,” John said, evenly, pressing fingers into his eyes. “I’ll identify the body.”

 

“Yeah, let me call Greg. What should I tell Sherlock?” 

 

“Who cares what you tell him? He’ll know the whole story by looking at you,” John said, miserably. “Forgive me, Mols. You don’t deserve this.”

 

“No, John-” 

 

John disconnected the phone, and put it in his pocket. He looked at his sister’s face one final time, and walked out of the room.

  
  
  


The rest of the night John worked tirelessly to save every single human that came through that door. It was the first time in a long time that he felt like he was actually a good doctor. He made several tricky diagnosis and managed to get care set up quickly. 

 

At the end of the shift, John waited by the nurse’s station to personally thank every single staff member who worked that night for their efforts. He finished his charting, and went for a shower in the staff locker room.

 

He was back in street clothes and freshly washed before he knew it. As he was leaving the hospital, he saw his sister’s wife- _late sister_ _-_ calling for him. He rushed to avoid her and ducked out a side exit before he made his way to the bus station. 

 

He sat down in the bus station shelter and closed his eyes tightly. The image of his sister at age 16, young and whole, came into his mind’s eye. That was before their Dad was shot and their lives changed forever. That’s how John liked to remember her-as his troublemaking big sister. Not the drug addicted boozehound she’d become. 

 

“John.” He heard his name coming to him as if from a far off place. He shook his head and opened his eyes. “John.” He heard again, from the person sitting beside him. 

 

John looked over at the man next to him and saw the all-too-familiar woolen Belstaff. He glanced at the hands-bare. “You left in a hurry.”

 

“Come home,” Sherlock begged, with a glance up at the blond man beside him. Sherlock swallowed hard, and looked at John with a bit of desperation in his voice, “Please?”

 

John threw himself into Sherlock’s lap, and started sobbing. “My sister’s dead,” He managed to say. Sherlock laid his hand on his blogger’s back, and let him cry. 

 

Sherlock hummed in a low soothing voice to John as he sobbed. 

 

Time passed slowly. 

 

A black sedan pulled up in front of the bus stop, and the window rolled down. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake!” Mycroft exclaimed. “Get in the car! We don’t hug on the street like some sort of street urchin!” 

 

“For once in my life, Mycroft Holmes, I am so fucking glad to see you,” John managed to say as he looked up from Sherlock’s lap. 

 

Slowly the two men rose from the bus stop, and climbed into the black sedan. 

 

“Baker street,” Sherlock instructed the driver, before pulling John into his arms again. 

 

A fresh wave of sorrow washed over John once he was buried in Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock just held the doctor in his arms, feeling his own tears start to well up. Mycroft happened to catch his brother’s eyes at the same time his own starting watering. Sherlock leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to John’s head. 

 

When they arrived at 221B Baker Street, John tore himself away from Sherlock to climb out of the car. Mutely, he made his way up the steps to Sherlock’s apartment- his old place. After Mary died, it was just easier to stay at their apartment. 

 

John stood in the doorway and stared around the room unseeing. Sherlock came up behind him and nudged him gently in the room. Sherlock removed his own coat, and locked the apartment door before he attended to John.

 

“Why did you keep my chair?” John finally asked, as Sherlock helped him out of his winter jacket.

 

The tall lithe brunette shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a perfectly good chair,” he said reasonably. 

 

“You’re lying.” John said, glancing at his face. They were tear-filled again.

 

“I wanted you to come home.” Sherlock said with a little throat clear. 

 

John nodded, then made a motion to unbutton his dress shirt. Sherlock pushed his hands away, and started working the buttons. “Tea?”

 

John shook his head, and reached out to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt. “I want your skin against mine. I want to fall asleep in your arms.” John said, pushing Sherlock’s shirt off him. John sniffled before he continued. 

 

“I don’t want sex tonight, but maybe tomorrow, but I want you. I want you back in my life. I want you by my side. I want you to hold me until my brain shuts down and my heart stops hurting. I want you to wake me from the nightmares coming. I want to roll over to get Rosie and have you already be there. I want a life with you.” 

 

John felt Sherlock’s fingers tremble against his stomach as he finished with the shirt. 

 

“And I know, I know you’re Sherlock Holmes. You don’t do emotions, that’s why you’ve got me. I just need you, ok?”

 

Sherlock’s chocolate eyes met John’s crystal blue ones. “I’m yours. Tonight. Tomorrow. For however long you need me.” Sherlock promised as he unbuttoned John’s trousers. John pushed his hands away, as he turned bright red. “Really, John?” Sherlock asked, in his typical Sherlockian fashion. “I can take your shirt off, but not your jeans? Is that-”

 

“It’s too intimate.”

 

“Very soon, I’m going to put your genitals in my mouth and ass, but I can’t remove your pants? John!” Sherlock huffed. 

 

“I want it to be different the first time you do  _ that. _ ” John returned, stepping out of his trousers, and disappearing into Sherlock’s spartan room. John crawled under Sherlock’s blankets, and inhaled deeply his favorite scent in the world. 

 

Earthy and spicy with a bit of stale tobacco. 

 

John groaned and smelled the blanket again. 

 

Still earthy, less spicy now, and more tobacco. 

 

John watched the light turn off in the living room, and heard the door creak as Sherlock entered the room. John held his breath as he felt the bed shift beside him. Sherlock’s long body wrapped itself around him- more tobacco and earth- and pulled John close. John felt strong arms around him, and warm legs tangled with his. He felt Sherlock’s nose on his neck, and curls tickled his ear. 

 

John was exhausted, and nestled into Sherlock’s protective arms. “Thank you for finding me tonight.”

 

“Of course I found you. It’s what I do.” Sherlock murmured in John’s ear.

 

“I hated my job tonight, but I don’t hate this at all.” 

 

Sherlock planted another kiss on John’s head, as he felt John braid their fingers together. “I don’t hate this either.”  


End file.
